Stories from Rwanda: What Happened in Church
Little girls dancing in church
I am sitting in a church service under a tent listening to group after group of little children sing for me as the honored white guest. This makes me feel slightly ill and very strange. I am not fond of God at the moment. Please do not ask my opinion of Jesus. I am wishing for a comment card at the end of a wooden pew, so I can make a formal complaint. As far as customer service goes, I am thinking Jesus and God should be fired for their performance in Africa. I am shocked they still get this much attention, as the widows and orphans and women with AIDS swelter from too much heat and too little shade. Our tent is more of a tarp on sticks than anything else. I marvel that it doesn’t fall down.
I try to listen from my upholstered chair, the one they carried up the hill from the village especially for me. I sit back relaxed, sipping my Fanta while the children sing and the women sweat. I try to look happy and serious at the same time. I try to hide how angry I am. I bide my time through songs fantasizing about communists and anarchists and activists in some other tent somewhere singing the same songs with different words.
Songs of power to the people.
Songs of defiant, rebellious hope.
A preacher from a neighboring town comes forward to give the message. The pastor of the little tent church places Michel (mee-shay) beside me to translate and then decides this is not enough. He marches Michel next to the man and orders him to say every word out loud for me in English. I dread how long this will make things. I hope everyone will not be too bored.
The message is about faith. I know this because the Michel says the word so many times in the next hour that I learn to recognize the word in Kinyarwanda first. Kwizera. I like how it sounds, even as I fear the concept is being passed out like a tranquilizer to all the suffering people. I hate how cynical I am. I wish to be a little child again so I could hear these words without judgment, without thinking.
I prepare to be annoyed, but I am not.
The man is talking about the kind of dreaming I believe in with all my heart. He is telling them this is the way of God, to deeply hope in things you don’t yet see. To take risks for the sake of good. A hundred times over in the weeks before I came, this kind of faith was sown into the garden of my heart. A hundred times the words came to me as one impossible thing happened after the next, “If you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move mountains.”
Mountains moved, indeed.
By some unexpected magic, I feel the tightness in my chest loosen a little, and I begin to breathe. I feel sorry that I am being so hard on Jesus. I feel tyrannical to be so insanely annoyed with God. I acknowledge to myself that for every kind of hardship here there are some that do not exist.
The sadness of believing we have been left here alone.
The desperation of thinking you must do everything on your own.
The isolation of carrying your hard times like a secret in your heart.
The pastor of the tent church leans over and asks me what I have brought for the widows and the orphans. “When they see white people coming, they think they are bringing something.” I tell him my hands are empty, that I have come because I love Odette and I wanted to see her children. I tell him I do not have even one franc left, but that I will leave the rest of my pens and bouncy balls and books for him to distribute as he wishes. I am suddenly glad there are no comment cards to evaluate my performance as a supposedly caring human being.
There will be speeches now as everyone tries to help everyone else understand why I am here if there will be no tangible help. No food. No cash. No shelter.
Odette’s brother goes first, explaining that I have not come here for the purpose of visiting churches, but that he wanted them to meet me because I am the dear friend of Odette and her relatives. Everyone is curious now as the paradigm shifts and I go from philanthropist to sister. Then the pastor stands and explains how I came not because of money but because of love. Love for Odette. Love for Odette’s children. Love for this family.
“And we know that Love is God,” he says as a warm and quiet contentment falls over all of us like a blessing. I watch as my name is planted into the ground of family and belonging, a place where cash and services will never ever take you. I feel reprieved, forgiven, understood. Is there any reason to go on a journey like this one, except for Love?
The pastor asks me to say a few words, and I actually feel like I want to even though we are in church, the place I have promised myself a thousand times over I will never speak again. I tell them how happy I am to be in Umutara, that I have never experienced kindness and welcome like this in my entire life. I tell them that seeing their love for me and for each other is changing me.
And then I say I can see they need many things, and that that I feel like I could cry.
The children sing for what feels like hours more and then the pastor prays. I have not finished my Fanta. I stop feeling like I want to leave. I don’t wish so hard to be an anarchist or some sort of revolutionary, bringing peace and goodness to the world by sheer force. I realize the people–all fifty of them–are praying out loud for me, and I wonder how this could happen. How I could be in this place in this moment with every cell of my body on fire, telling me this dream, these needs, this contentment, is where I belong?
June 12th, 2008 at 3:34 pm
This is a very sincere and touching entry. And the picture also tells of that, very beautiful indeed.
-Yvie
June 12th, 2008 at 3:51 pm
Thank you for this beautiful, truthful post. It held my attention like nothing else I’ve read in eons.
I feel very humbled by these amazing, loving, faithful people.
Thank you a million times over for going to Africa for those of us who can’t and bringing back parts of Africa so that we too can be changed. I should probably only speak for myself, though, so let me admit I need this transformation.
Yes to so much of what you said but especially this: Love is the ONLY reason to continue on this difficult journey called life.
June 12th, 2008 at 4:13 pm
I’ve been reading all your posts since you returned with a sense of wonder, but don’t think I’ve commented yet because I would always been about the zillionth person to do so.
I love your fierceness and your thoughtfulness, and I love the way you bring these brothers and sisters to us so we can know them too.
I go to church quite regularly, but can so understand your swirling feelings on these issues. On the good days, it is all about love. On the bad days…
June 12th, 2008 at 4:19 pm
jen, churches would be poorer if you never spoke in them again!!! I know from firsthand experience that speaking up in church can bring trouble on your head but it can also bring immense joy.
Can I make a book suggestion? The Shack by William Young. This book helped me bring it all back to the place that I thought it should be in the beginning…God is love and all about relationships and is especially fond of all of us…I mean all of us.
June 12th, 2008 at 4:31 pm
A beautiful and important experience, I think!!!
June 12th, 2008 at 4:49 pm
you gave me goosebumps from head to toe. thank you.
June 12th, 2008 at 5:11 pm
Jen - In what has proven to be a difficult season for me, I always find contentment here. Today it came especially clear and I want to do something better with my day, with myself as a result. Thank you. One of these days I think I’d be blessed to just sit on your porch. : ) Hope to catch up with you in SF.
June 12th, 2008 at 5:16 pm
Is this why you disappeared on me? Okay, I’m satisfied.
June 12th, 2008 at 5:22 pm
Oh, what a journey it was! Each of these posts is another gem of inspiration, and another part of the journey - within and without. When I come to your reference to the “Garden of my heart”, I couldn’t help but recall a fragment from Baha’i scripture: “Oh, friend, in the garden of your heart plant naught but the rose of love, and from the nightingale of affection and desire loosen not your hold.” It seems fitting.
June 12th, 2008 at 5:49 pm
ahhhhh …. I love reading your writing. This is so honest. As I read at first I felt sadness, anger and then discomfort (I know EXACTLY that feeling of humility and embarrassment as the honoured guest … when in reality you just want to honour THEM), and as I kept read I began to smile. As I read your post I kept smiling and nodding my head and thinking … yes. yes. this is the way it is. And you telling of your experiences bears witness to the experiences I remember as a child in Africa (and on later visits as an adult).
June 12th, 2008 at 5:57 pm
This post brought me to tears like no other has, for reasons I can’t even begin to write out loud. Wishing I could join Laurie and you (and Odette) on your porch sometime.
June 12th, 2008 at 6:42 pm
i know this maybe isn’t the point of your post, but i had to say how much i resonated… with the last paragraph especially… feeling like you belong. i was so shocked, in africa, at how much i just wanted to stay. the insects were going to take some getting used to, but so much of everything else just felt… good.
June 12th, 2008 at 6:42 pm
jen, you are amazing. can’t wait to see you in august.
June 12th, 2008 at 8:03 pm
This is beautiful honest writing Jen - you inspire me to write again. Just two more exams out of the way and then I’m going into writers retreat. xo
June 12th, 2008 at 10:23 pm
You are amazing. I can’t even express what this post means to me. I need to marinate on it awhile and even then, I don’t know if I can tell you how incredible I think you are…
June 12th, 2008 at 11:23 pm
I follow you from a far. Your writting about the trip is amazing and honest. My husband came into the room as I was checking you blog and I told him your story. He was enthralled and asked, “is this real or a movie?” Yes, your story seems so beautiful like a movie…
June 13th, 2008 at 12:25 am
Thank you.
Just thank you.
June 13th, 2008 at 1:19 am
Every Rwandan post you give makes me cry like a baby. You are amazing. They are amazing. I love you.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZlHMTlx5d14
June 13th, 2008 at 2:03 am
Release…become…give…you did.
Thank you, Jen, for sharing an experience most of us will never live. And for taking love ‘over there’ from each of us.
June 13th, 2008 at 2:04 am
Jen, your voice is so deep, honest, loving and strong. Please, please, never silence it. Not in writing, nor in speaking, and certainly not in the community of Christ who needs your voice if it is to be any good in the world.
June 13th, 2008 at 5:05 am
I’ve read all of your postings since your return but this one got to me the most, I think because I understand how you would have felt sitting there before Odette’s brother spoke and the tide turned.
June 13th, 2008 at 8:04 am
Everything about this story sings of grace to me. You, your experience in church, and the amazing people surrounding you. Thank you for sharing these experiences with us.
June 13th, 2008 at 9:44 am
Jen, you are a gifted storyteller — a truthteller, really. Your words are full of grace and spirit and truth and beauty and hope and inspiration. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with us.
June 13th, 2008 at 9:52 am
Wow - by the end of this post I was in tears - I had the children singing in the background and I read and I cried. You have such a gift - you bring us right there with you. My heart aches for these people - why do they have to endure this. Thank you for opening my eyes and I’m sure others. It just amazing…sorry i’m rambling….
June 13th, 2008 at 10:55 am
I have tears running down my face right now. I don’t know why. I don’t believe in religion, but I do believe in Spirit and in Love and in Faith.
I have been reading your stories from Africa and sometimes I just don’t know how to feel. It seems so important and huge, and all I have right now to give is small and it’s all I can focus on right now.
I guess I want to thank you for thinking big and then DOING big. Even if you feel like what you could do was so small, it was so huge.
June 13th, 2008 at 12:10 pm
you are a great writer! more! more!
June 13th, 2008 at 1:17 pm
I’ve been reading your blog for awhile now, links through Shutter Sisters.
You sharing your journey has broken my heart and healed it over and over.
Thank you.
June 13th, 2008 at 2:41 pm
All I have to say is wow…
June 13th, 2008 at 7:09 pm
an amazing thing, perspective. from mine, I see God so clearly in your pictures. when hope and good triumphs over the evil in the world, there is God. and yes, he is love, which you have in abundance. speaking up in church I don’t feel necessary, crying there I find transforming.
June 14th, 2008 at 4:42 pm
The honesty in this post echo within me. I love how your posts leave me feeling humble, peaceful and reflective. Keep up the great work, you reach out farther than you will ever know with sharing your stories.
June 15th, 2008 at 12:56 pm
Jen,
you make me weep with your deep compassion and love. thanks for the gift of Africa in my life.
marilee
June 16th, 2008 at 12:03 pm
how beautifully honest and true. as someone who has experienced similar ceremonies in uganda, eating precious meat when i know others will only get a handful of rice, seeing stories acted out of circumcision, battling the negativity against patriarchy, colonization, and my own preconceived notions of the way the world is run and hot under the collar of the unfairness, cruelty, and perceptions of god almighty, this hits me quite deep. thank you for your beautiful words and your loving honesty that shakes me.
June 20th, 2008 at 7:35 am
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June 23rd, 2008 at 4:51 pm
[…] Lemen writes of finding grace, love and true Christian hospitality in an African church. Why is it so difficult for us here in the developed world to welcome people like this? We’re […]
June 25th, 2008 at 1:11 am
This is a beautiful story. So much to think about.
June 26th, 2008 at 10:55 am
i just found you through someone else’s blog…and I am crying at how beautiful this post is and at the grace that seems to have filled you and come through the words you typed.
it is so hard to be hopeful in this world today. just this past week-end though, my friend reminded me that our thoughts become things. just like these people in Rwanda, I need to remind myself never to let go of hope, light, love, and all the things that are joy-filled. yes, people may be cruel and situations can get desperate, but there is always a chance for redemption…for all of us.
thank you so much for this writing. it moved my heart.
July 14th, 2008 at 12:48 am
It’s for posts such as THIS one that I continue to be thankful for your heart, your honesty and transparency. I am deeply moved and challenged… I’m still thinking about your soul-searching experiences in Africa… (reflecting quietly…)
September 17th, 2008 at 2:10 pm
I think that it is sometimes easier to be angry with God than it is to be angry with people, who let these things happen, without intervening.
I believe that we are God’s hands on this earth.
I also believe that we can scream and yell at God and that he will listen, he is not like people who would get offended. We are allowed to ask questions and even be angry with God.
I believe that God’s heart is breaking over what is happening in this world and that he WILL intervene one day…
March 11th, 2009 at 7:45 am
I wonder if you might read Deepak Chopra’s The Third Jesus.